More Fun With Referers

A spinet total of two people have "stumbled" across this place after entering "cheeseburger joke" into Google.

To start with, this floored me for a number of reasons. Why would anyone be looking for joke cheeseburgers? What are these people hoping to do with a cheeseburger and whom to? Why would that kind of person even be allowed internet access? Or cheeseburgers?

I got bogged down in a cycle of bafflement. Each supposition (and suppository) just led me to further questions, before finally, it sank in:

I was selling casual visitors to this place short - there is literally no information on cheeseburger jokes in this oasis otherwise packed with enlightenment. I must make amends. If that's what the moronic public wants, then that's what the moronic public gets. Therefore, and without much further ado, the Peter O'Phile guide to cheeseburgers, jokes and cheeseburger based jokes.

Top 5 Cheeseburger Pranks:
5) Do not put any cheese in the burger.
4) Give them one of those squeaky dog toy things in the shape of a cheeseburger.
3) Make the bun out of desiccated cowshit.
2) Set fire to anybody ordering a cheeseburger, looking at a cheeseburger, or saying "cheese". Ever.
1) The McDonalds Cheeseburger (a repeat of prank 4 in many ways).

Top 4 Cheeseburger Related Jokes:
4) A man walks into a bar wearing nothing but a load of cheeseburgers stuck together with selotape. "What the fuck is that all about?" says the bartender. "Oh. It's kind of embarrassing, but I have an eating disorder" the man replies.
3) Don't you hate it when your mind plays tricks on you? The other day I made a cheeseburger and the dirty bastard filled the fucker with carpet tacks!
2) Last week I went up to a policeman and threw a cheeseburger in his face. He got angry and started to push me, at which point I whacked him with a second cheeseburger I had hidden in my other hand. Blinded with rage and bits of cheeseburger, he pulled out his truncheon and started to beat me to the ground. At this moment I pointed at him and shouted out in a clear voice "It's PC Gone Mad"! I got out of hospital yesterday.
1) Elvis.

Top 3 Things To Say When Someone Asks You About Cheeseburger Jokes
3) Get. Help.
2) What the fuck are you on about, you crazy shit?
1) The restraining order is perfectly clear about this kind of thing. Back to 50 yards, now.

Top 2 Cheeseburger Joke Punchlines
2) Raping a horse!
1) I haven't been cunting, drinkstable!

Top Cheeseburger Joke As Told By A Woman
1) "There's that one about the priest and the rabbi, then...oh, I've forgotten how it ends. You know, when he eats the cheeseburger then dies. Or does he die? Oh, I'm so bad at jokes...it's all sooooo embarrassing. I think I'll cry for a bit now, because I ate a cheesburger three days ago and looked a bit fatty round the ankles yesterday. Plus I'm on my period and you know how that plays havoc with my cheeseburger appetite..." (ad nauseam, ad infinitum)

Well hopefully that's that omission corrected anyway. In the unlikely event I've missed anything (given Petoral Infallibility and all), email me at PeterOPhile@Gmail.com.

Very Belated April Fool's Day Joke

I had the perfect April Fool's worked out but I was too lazy to do it. Still, now seems like a good time to write it up, maybe then I'll remember in time for next year.

It all stemmed from the idea that killing myself would be a fucking awesome prank - nobody would see that one coming, I'd be a living comedy legend (except the legend part). Next I thought I should come up with a way to do this that is in itself a joke, maximising the comedy of the whole thing. But how?

The idea hit me, like a book I'd put high up on some shelves and then knocked down by accident when pretending to be a mountain climber. I should kill myself...in secret, using gravity.

My work people have no contact details for my family, nor does my landlord or in fact, anyone else. Only a handful of people even know where I live and they would be both uncontactable and used to my disappearing for extended periods of time. I wondered how long I could go dead for before anyone noticed and then how long I could remain dead before anyone actually found me.

So I decided on a plan - I'd climb up in my loft without using a stepladder, spread magic-tree air fresheners all over the shop, put the access hatch back in place and then hang myself from the rafters behind a big pile of boxes. Why would the police look for me in a loft? I don't think they would, not for a while anyway. I reckon that two weeks would be a reasonable target. A truly amazing reasonable target, granted, but a reasonable target none the less.

Utter genius if I do say so myself. In fact...fuck it, I might just do it now - the super-double-cheeseburger joke being that it isn't even April. Yeah, fuck it, I will do it.

I'll just post my suicide note here, then head off and meet my maker. Hopefully somebody will find it at some point and let the world in general know of its tragic loss. Goodbye, and thanks for reading!

Peter O'Phile.

PO'P EDIT: Shit, I've got bats up there again. I'm not letting those fuckers eat my eyes and engorged penis (from the hanging rather than anything else, this is a serious business). It'll just have to wait.


PO'P EDIT2: I've just remembered that I'm hugely disdainful of people who kill themselves (not that it matters to Deady McNoPulse), fucking wimpshit quitters should all be brought back to life and have to commit suicide again from the shame of taking such a girly way out. Looks like I dodged a bullet (literally) there!

Randumb

Proper update coming soon, maybe even today. I'm having trouble fashioning it into anything even vaguely readable. My advice is not to hold your breath (unless I hate you, in which case carry on).

I'm in an odd mood which certainly has nothing to do with the two litres of red bull I've consumed so far today, so here's some random shit that wouldn't fit anywhere else...

Peter O'Phile The People O'Phile (aka Phil Anthropist)

I saw this in my referrer list and nearly pissed my pants (they were dirty anyway). That's Dr O'Phile to you:

(I especially like the shortened version of a couple of articles in the text.)

They've since dropped me off the search, so I won't post a link. Fucking Spanish fucks.

Fags

I buy my cigarettes over the internet because I am fucked off with paying tax to the British government, plus they're cheaper.

Price Per Pack From Greece - £3.
Price Per Pack From UK - £5.
Price Per Pack From Greece But After Peter Has Forgotten To Pay Credit Card Bill Several Times - £5.50.

Yeah, I'm not good with credit cards.

A Depraved Man's Guide: Budapest

Weather / Accommodation

It may be very fucking hot. If, like me, you are unable to sleep (or particularly move) in hot weather, a crude but cooling bed can be fashioned by laying a towel down on the floor of a shower and rolling another towel into a pillow. Try to remember to turn the water off before the sweet embrace of sleep, otherwise when you wake up three hours later, you will be surprised not to have drowned. If you wake up at all.

Further to this, most hotel rooms have air-conditioning, even in the ex-communist peasantry. When you notice the air-conditioner high up on the wall, do not assume that the front panel will switch it on, even though a tall cupboard is required to gain access. There will be a remote control and the damage from the fall will hurt when you sober up.

Flower beds are much less comfortable to sleep in than they may at first appear, due to their evil Stalinist roots, which will poke you maliciously in the back.

Entertainment

Strippers
Strippers are not sexy. People who think that a woman removing all her clothes and then attempting to remove yours and those of the 10 other watching males before dancing on your lap in front of them is a desirable experience are all very fucking odd people.

Normal people like me find the whole experience embarrassing and strange. It did appear that I was the only normal person in our group, and that there is a general shortage of normal people in this world. I don't get it, I never will. Fucking weirdos.

As usual, pointing this out may lead to you being called gay, despite the fact that the man-titty to good-titty ratio is around 1/10. It should go without saying that the penis to penis-holder ratio is even lower if you have made poor decisions in booking the dancer.

Guns
The Walther PPK is a girly piece of shit and seemed to consistently shoot low and left. The Sig Sauer SP2022 however, is a fantastic gun and will enable the skilled amateur to kill more or less anything he or she may want to. The Colt .357 is equally capable but may also kill a few things you didn't intend to, probably from catastrophic bowel failure.

Beer
Beer is cheap, take the opportunity to drink as much as is humanly possible while you can. Nothing more needs to be said on this subject.

Culture / Outlook

Smoking is not only allowed everywhere, it seems mandatory. Sadly the trend of wimping out and jumping aboard the cotton-wool nanny bus can only be biding its feeble time. I admire Budapest for its liberal stance but I know that someday I will have to mourn its passing.

A similar story can be told of handguns. No civilised nation considers its citizens such lunatics as to be unable to responsibly shoot the occasional round at a wall covered in targets rather than a bus full of schoolchildren. Sadly the world seems to be heading in a less civilised direction of late and I am sure that handguns will shortly be joining the smokers and dinosaurs in extinction.

Most Budapestians speak passable English. Try not to piss of the entire country by mentioning the cold war at every opportunity and mumbling about getting more beers for the motherland. Asking guides if they know where "all the tanks are hidden" is also considered a faux-pas. Fuck knows why HSBC didn't mention that little titbit in their stupid fucking adverts.

In all, Budapest was less of a shitfest than I had expected. Looking back, this is mostly because I was allowed to shoot guns and smoke without worry, instead opting to relax in an environment of doing whatever the fuck I wanted. I can only hope that the laissez-faire lifestyle hidden behind the iron curtain can stay in place for another 1000 years - Britain and its jumped up comptrollers can burn in shit for all I care.

An Uninteresting Post About My Uninteresting Life. Not Interested? Look Away Now

Yeah, I've been neglecting this fucking thing. Every time I try and I write on Blogger (once, to be fair), it cocks up, shows the white flag and its yellow belly like an elite army of French soldiers.

And now I'm off to Budapest on some shitfest fucking stag weekend. Fuck knows why I agreed to go. What's wrong with a stag night? In fact, what's wrong with a stag pint? Fucking stupid idea if you ask me. Weather reports say 30 degrees plus, so I'll be sweating like a French soldier within sight of the enemy but without anything white in my possession. And probably saying "merde" a lot more.

There are a few burning issues that need attending to, I've been too lazy to finish articles with the following titles:

"I Didn't Come To This Multiplayer Online Game To Chat, Goddammit!", "Attention Scientists: Stop Trying To Kill Peter.", "Don't Know What To Do? Do Nothing." and "Rambling Diatribe 3."*.

Hopefully I'll be able to fight off the technical issues (read sober up) and sort some proper shit out next week. No doubt they'll all be rushed and utter cock as a result and will never see the light of day. Swings and roundabouts and all things nice, as they say in Hungary (I hope, anyway).

I've been asked about tonight's World Cup match between France and Portugal and who I'll be supporting. Well I'm rooting for the terrorists on this one. The Mad Mullahs must have some use, come on lads...win one for Blighty.

*Title's a bit vague, isn't it? What a tosser.

PO'P EDIT: Now this fucking thing won't fucking publish either. Something or someone is going to fucking swing and burn. Fucking amateur cunts. If you can read this, then you are witnessing a fucking miracle.